A condor rose from the rocks and circled away with slow lazy sweep of wings.
"You would wonder what they could find to eat here, if it were not for the snakes and the lizards."
"Perhaps, we'll not wonder so much before we finish."
Wayland looked at the old frontiersman again. He was riding heavily, sagged forward, with one hand on the high pommel of the Mexican saddle.
"Talk about the heroes o' cold in the North," he said. "'Tis easy! Y'r cold buoys a man up! This stews the life out before ye have a fightin' chance! Y' could light a match on these saddle buckles."
"I think I see sand hills ahead. If there's any shade, we'll rest till twilight."
The lava rocks rolled to a trough of sand; and the light lay a shimmering lake in the alkali sink.
"Is that what y' call a false pond?"
"No, I hope you'll not see any false ponds this trip! False pond is in your head or your eye; and the harder you ride, the faster it runs. Let's get out of this wind!"
Wayland noticed the horses paw restlessly and nose at the gravel when they crossed the dry bed of a spring stream.